


Ink on Paper

by armouredescort



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Books, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Reading, Reading Aloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3529913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armouredescort/pseuds/armouredescort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's a reader. A big reader.</p><p>***<br/>A prompt by iainkillsrobots on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink on Paper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iainkillsrobots (prozacplease)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prozacplease/gifts).



Hair tied up, legs flung over the side of his seat, and a book against his legs, Bucky felt content.

Believe it or not, he liked school. He liked learning. When he and Steve had lived together in Brooklyn they'd shared a library subscription. Couldn't afford new books.

Not unless it was a special occasion.

But now? Now he had money and a proper place with proper bookshelves that were protected from the sun. And he had the _internet_ to help him make lists of things he'd missed.

Bucky paged through his latest book, reading about the development of deep sea exploration. He knew Steve would be back soon, and he wanted to finish this chapter before he was swept up in whatever Steve had planned that night.

To think someone had actually found the _Titanic_ after all of the years it had lain untouched.

Tiredness, something he felt regularly, seemed to wash over Bucky, fingers slipping from the pages as he tried to shake himself awake. It was no use - he was at a perfect warmth to fall asleep and the next thing he knew was Steve was flicking on the lights and gently shaking him.

"Oh," Bucky mumbled, unfolding himself.

He winced, his shoulder clicking, and immediately Steve pressed his fingers into the offending nerve, letting Bucky roll his shoulders. It still pulled but it wasn't as bad.

"Do you need your cream?" asked Steve, holding Bucky's hands in his.

"Yes, please."

He followed Steve to the bathroom where he sighed happily as Steve rubbed in a cream that would help with the chronic pain in Bucky's shoulder. Most of it had to do with loosening the scar tissue.

"Thanks Stevie," said Bucky, turning to Steve because he meant it, every time.

He lifted his good arm to give Steve a lopsided hug. Careful arms wrapped around him to avoid jarring his arm.

"I have to take you to that bookshop on broadway, I think you'll really love it," said Steve. "What were you reading?"

Bucky began to explain, the drowsiness vanishing as he talked while Steve set about fixing them dinner. Sometimes he would get stuck on a word and say it in German or French or Russian instead, and when that happened, Bucky would use one of the little dictionaries he kept on the kitchen bench to translate back, although it was mostly the Russian that Steve didn't understand.

It was beautiful to see Bucky so animated. It had taken them a long time to get to this point. Being able to direct his own learning had been something that they'd hit upon rather early in Bucky's recovery. A small choice of paperbacks at first - two or three - mostly pulp fiction, which Bucky read obediently in between sessions with physical therapists and psychologists and doctors.

Then thicker ones, some of those Pelican editions. Steve had insisted. Steve had known that Bucky liked knowledge of all kinds and filling in the gaps of lost time was the first thing to be of practical use. They needed a timeline of what Bucky could remember.

Once that was started, Bucky made verbal progress - he asked for certain books rather than choosing from what was available.

And that progressed to Bucky sharing what he thought about the things that he read ("Steve, you need to read this" or "That's too dry for you, I know you like it to have human interest, Steve") even if it was mostly in relation to how Steve would feel.

Bucky's stomach grumbled halfway through an explanation of a bathysphere when Steve mixed in a spicy sauce to the chicken he was cooking. He edged a little closer, as if someone would snatch the food away, and resumed talking.

There was something about underwater zeppelins, Steve was sure, but he lost concentration when he had to flip the chicken in the pan.

"So they used two windows instead," finished Bucky.

"Well I'm not going to say I understood all of that, Buck, but it sounded pretty amazing."

Bucky nodded, and set the table as Steve brought dinner over.

"Will you read to me after dinner?" asked Steve.

Bucky nodded.

Despite the new circumstances, the buildings and the history that had whizzed past them, it was times like this that made Steve feel almost like nothing had changed. After they had cleared up dinner, Steve would sit in a chair and sketch and Bucky would lean against him, reading something or another, and then when that was done, they would retreat to bed and sleep.

Bucky's voice, soft when he read, filled the silence of their apartment, and they knew that they were okay for now, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
